


On a Long Run

by Kuroeia (Empatheia)



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Kuroeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope doesn't come easy for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Long Run

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Girls Like Girls](http://inthewildwood.livejournal.com/40383.html#t188095) comment ficathon on LJ ([thread](http://inthewildwood.livejournal.com/40383.html?thread=150463#t150463)).
> 
> Prompt: _let me be the one you're running to_

Running had been hard.

Hard for everyone, she knew, but some more so than others, and herself most of all. It wasn’t self-pity; she wasn’t so selfish as that. The others had something she lacked, and she’d come to recognize it, that was all.

Angharad would have called it hope, and not been wrong. To Cheedo’s eyes it was something simpler, something closer to the root: they believed that tomorrow _could_ be better, not necessarily that it would be. It was enough for them. 

It was not enough for her.

She knew this devil, see. She knew his vagaries and cruelties. He was not unpredictable. Terrible, yes, but she could brace herself for that, and among her few gifts was an unparalleled capacity for endurance. He could do nothing to her that she didn’t expect. There was a power in that, however small and sad.

None of the others understood.

Angharad -- splendid, splendid Angarad -- had no fear in her at all, only determination and faith. Capable saw no reason to disbelieve Angharad when Angharad told her that freedom was more than a dream, and more than that, she knew she would be needed. Capable could never turn away when she was needed. Toast... Toast feared death, but hated more than she feared, and knew an viable opportunity when she saw one.

The Dag might have understood, or come closest to it, if not for her disgust. Her reason was not pride, or hatred, or hope; it was more immediate than that, more visceral. Cheedo had spent more nights than she cared to remember holding the Dag’s hair back as she vomited into the latrine slats, trying in some futile way to purge herself of the nameless stench Joe had left within her. She would have done anything to avoid that suppurating touch. No worse devils out in this wasteland for her.

So Cheedo was alone in it, but when she’d lost against the fear the Dag had held her back and stroked her hair and told her no, had lent her the courage to keep running. The Dag had curled into her shoulder in the cab of the rig, defenceless in sleep, trusting her to stay. The Dag had made her _want_ to run, if only to keep up with the only real home she knew.

The Citadel and its treacherous gardens lay behind, and yes, she missed it. The desire to turn back and beg forgiveness was still there, to endure her punishment, to regain her place as she knew it. 

But she wouldn’t.

Angharad was right, she knew, and so were the rest. The devil she knew was not better for being known. Her sisters were here, and they were known too, and they believed. Surely she could find it within herself to believe with them. Such a small thing to be asked of her, in a lifetime of hardship.

Have hope. Run.

The Dag drifted into the hypnopompic lands on the borders of wakefulness, shifted slightly, smiled sleepily up at Cheedo from the crook of her shoulder. Cheedo kissed her forehead before she could wake up enough to remember it.

The desert stretched ahead of them, sere and unforgiving, but not malicious. The world had already ended. Humanity was of no concern to the shifting tides of sand and salt anymore.

Cheedo tightened her fingers around the Dag’s and thought about hope.

**END**


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